Slow Healer
by Tears of Mercury
Summary: Peyton Sawyer scars easily and heals slowly, but the scar that monopolizes her heart is the same one that is so quick to make all the others disappear, and it is the same one that carries her through every circumstance. BLP triangle with a twist.


**A/N:** Humph. I don't do slash, so this is weird even for me. I'm not quite sure what it is so I'll let you interpret it as you may. It started tickling my consciousness about a month ago and wouldn't leave me alone, so I wrote it out and let it decay in my folder. Then I took it out and realized maybe it wasn't so awful, after all. Hope you enjoy.

"You're thinking about him again, aren't you?" It isn't a question but a demand, and like most of the demands that Brooke gives so easily Peyton finds it hard to rise to the occasion. She doesn't want to answer this, doesn't want the last of her dignity stripped away. "You're thinking about him in bed with you, how different it is when there's a girl to fight over the covers with." Still she doesn't answer. The last thing she wants is to get into a fight (the tenth, fifteenth, hundredth one this month) when they'll just end up reconciling in five minutes anyway. It's not that she's complaining; Brooke has always made it worth her while.

She's been silent too long, and the nails grazing her upper arm casually tell her that it's time to give a straight answer. "Lucas and I never fought over covers." Brooke laughs, and it's a beautiful guttural chuckle that makes Peyton's insides light on fire. She lets the spark burn for a moment before extinguishing it. "Did he ever do that thing where he was lying on the opposite side of the bed, but he had one hand on your heart and the other on your-" She doesn't even have time to grow embarrassed, so quick is Brookes answering giggle.

"God, those were good times. Lucas Scott, however asinine he may be, is one hell of a lover." Peyton stiffens at this. Lucas is her first love, her last love, her only love (then what is Brooke? taunts the voice in her head), and whatever he may have done, she hates hearing him talked about this way. The other girl shifts on the bed, and the sheets swirl around her legs, complimenting her perfectly. It's such a perfect moment Peyton wants to draw it or cry over it or maybe both. Neither response would do it justice. "Anyway, I'm sure it was different between the two of you. You had this whole spiritual connection thing going on… I don't even want to know how many times Lucas just slept in your bed while he was my boyfriend," she says, and her voice doesn't quite make it a complaint. If anything, she sounds amused.

"Never while you two were together," Peyton replies, turning over and clutching the remainder of the white sheet to her breasts. They are cheap and she knows they hardly conceal what little she has to hide, but it's a gesture protecting herself more than Brooke's eyes, anyway. "We both would have felt wrong about that. Believe it or not, we did care about you…"

"… you just couldn't fight fate," Brooke finishes, and this time there is a hint of bitterness in her words. "God, it's like the two of you are fucking written in the stars. I was always in the way, just getting hurt because I tried to fight it." Without knowing what she's doing or why, Peyton covers one tiny hand with her own hand. The comparison makes her feel masculine; not a sensation she's unfamiliar with after comparing some part of herself to Brooke.

"You were never in the way," she says, and because Brooke doesn't seem to believe it, "and if Lucas and I were fate, would I really be laying here with you?" They don't talk about how strange the situation is, don't mention the fact that their clothes were discarded hours ago and neither of them is uncomfortable in the slightest. They talk with eye-words, and Brooke's eyes glimmer in the darkness and say _I love you (I want you?)_ and Peyton's say _I love you_ back.

"You're only mine for the summer, P. Sawyer," Brooke responds, shaking her hair out and letting it tangle around her shoulders. Her dimples show when her lips turn down at this pronouncement.

"Don't call me that," Peyton begs. She is so mad that Brooke has to make everything so light and insubstantial and normal for them when they could be so much more, and so sad because she knows that Brooke is trying to do the right thing for both of them. "You know I hate that nickname."

"Does P. Scott suit you better?" she jokes, but it is a feeble joke and her eyes once again betray her. "First it was Haley going from tutor girl to tutor wife to tutor mom, and now not even you're staying the same…" For a moment Peyton thinks she might lose control. As Brooke pulls herself together in the blink of an eye, Peyton marvels at how little she really knows her best friend and how glad she is of that.

"I've been changing forever," she replies, reaching out to brush the hair from Brooke's face in a shockingly intimate gesture. It doesn't feel unnatural.

"But that part of you deep down that was the part of you that made the rest of you Peyton, whether you wore converse shoes or Manolo Blahniks, that's changing too. And I don't want to be left behind," Brooke confesses, and a tear falls.

"Brooke," Peyton whispers, kissing the hand still placed in hers, "that's never changed. I could never leave you anywhere. Why do you think it took me so long to say one damn word about my feelings for Lucas?"

"Because you're loyal and good and true; everything that I'll never be," Brooke answers stubbornly.

"Everything that you are," Peyton argues gently, and suddenly the hand on her shoulder grips her more tightly. She winces not entirely in displeasure as sharp, pointed nails from a two-day-old pedicure pierce her skin, hoping that this time Brooke _(Tigger, B. Davis, lovergirl, skank, bitch, bestest friend)_ will be sensible and not draw blood. Peyton scars easily.

"Am I hurting you?" Brooke inquires.

"Only the good kind," Peyton answers, staring intently at the shadows playing across Brooke's face.

"I'm going to leave you with quite a few scars, Peyton Sawyer," she says with a small smile.

"I was just thinking the same thing." Peyton loves how her smile widens at this, becomes more genuine. "Great minds, right?" Perfect rosebud lips press against her temple.

"More like kindred spirits," she corrects, and Peyton doesn't argue with her. The rest of the night stretches before them, glorious hours just begging to be spent engaging in pillow talk. Peyton Sawyer scars easily and heals slowly, but the scar that monopolizes her heart is the same one that is so quick to make all the others disappear, and it is the same one that carries her through every circumstance. It is the girl lying next to her.

Peyton's never realized just how beautiful a scar can be.


End file.
